


meet in the vale

by nicasio_silang



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicasio_silang/pseuds/nicasio_silang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two freaky aliens mess around in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	meet in the vale

It's not quite soft. Or rather, soft is the wrong word. It’s nothing like an overripe fruit, like a warm pillow, like a child’s idea of clouds. Not like a plump puppy, a curvaceous human, no. In fact the only apt comparison that comes to mind is one he’d rather not dare to mention: that a Cardassian’s supple lizard belly is as disarmingly unexpected as the noodly underside of a Horta.

“No, no, not in texture,” he says, because he does inevitably babble it all out. “It’s just the nature of the surprise.”

Garak’s smiling, but it’s the smile he hates, so he puts his ear to that surprising stomach and lets it warm his cheek. The swooping rise of the sternum ridge begins just where he presses his nose, and it runs up to divide along the collarbones, to turn and advance along the shoulders, the neck. The stomach is a snowy valley between this and the rocky ridge of scales along his hips. Topographically speaking, it’s a weak position. Garak’s hands find the back of his neck, the crown of his skull. They grip, then loosen somewhat. Blunt fingernails test his spine.

“Perhaps my ancestors were boulders,” Garak says.

“Or mountains. But don’t you know?”

“Of course. We were cetaceans.” He shows some teeth.

“Selachimorpha, more like.”

Garak runs a thumb down the line of Julian’s nose. He moves to tuck his face into Garak’s palm.

“We were glaciers.” Julian laughs at that, flips over.

“Hold on, I must find a pun about your crevasse.” Garak takes the opportunity to smooth Julian’s sideburns to a sharp point, to whorl the thin hairs around his nipples into a circle. They rebel, flare out. “You’ll never make me symmetrical, you know.”

“As always,” Garak moves down to the losing battle with Julian’s pubic hair, “You have the strangest ideas about my motives.” Garak’s hand brushes his softened cock and Julian makes a face and a noise. “Tender?”

“Oh, as if you weren’t aware.”

“I wasn’t at all aware that human physiology was so masochistic.”

He finds the tendon in the crook of Julian’s hip and pinches at the sensitized skin. In self-defense, Julian executes some minor gymnastics that lands him between Garak’s legs. It’s a bit of a wet spot, but he stays. Conveniently, Garak’s preputial orifice is in front of him, purpled and puckered just ever so slightly, still radiating heat and smelling of sex. Julian places a hand beside it, in the dip of his hip. Presses, and watches it tense. Garak hisses, his hips rise just a centimeter.

“Fascinating,” he says. Garak doesn’t say a word.

So he places his mouth right up against the slit and breathes in as hard as he can. Cold, cold air rushes to meet his lips, to meet Garak’s flesh where it parts and he gasps, he doesn’t want to, but he gasps. So what can Julian do but lay his tongue out flat and lick as wet and firm a swath as he can, straight along that slit that swells, that parts for him. Nothing like a fig, nothing like-

There’s no simile, there’s-

Folds the color of a thunderhead curl back, create a wide bloom of slick flesh from which the crown of his penis eagerly buds. Wet like a wound. He traces the shape of it with his tongue, he tries to find a way deeper inside. There’s strain in Garak’s breathing, in the muscles of his stomach. He fists a hand in Julian’s hair and pulls until their eyes meet.

“What a wanton creature you are.”

But as he says it, his cock, now jutting out another several inches, hits Julian mid-smile.

“Oh, yes,” he replies. He grabs hold of Garak’s hip ridges, fits his fingers between their sharp points. “What shameless animals we are.”


End file.
